The Faded Road
"The map is wrong." Silas looked up from the table. The wood was scarred with old cuts, deep gouges from tools that had since rusted away. He did not look at the paper. He looked at Elias. "It is not wrong," Silas said. His voice was low, a dry rustle of leaves. "It is old." "Old means it lies," Elias said. He pushed the map closer to the edge. The ink was faded, the lines of the river barely...
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